Close Encounters of the Unlikely Kind: One Dark and Stormy Night
by Starfire201
Summary: IDW-based. Shortly after the war's end, Ratchet gives a stranger shelter from an acid storm. But he soon realizes there is more to this mech than is apparent at first glance...Selection from Close Encounters of the Unlikely Kind on Ao3. Written for TF Summer Gift Exchange 2018. Sort of fix-it fic.


**A/N1:** This was part of a selection of one-shots I wrote and posted at Ao3 for their TF Summer Gift Exchange. The request for the giftee was written as follows:

 _Request 2_  
 _IDW_

 _Need more Wing in my life! Wing/Ratchet/Drift would be especially awesome. I'm a sucker for that trio. But, really, anything where Wing lives and gets to keep annoying the Knights works for me._

Since I couldn't figure out a believable way to make this a pairing, I instead wrote Wing and Ratchet interaction with permission of the giftee. As for Drift, I never wrote him, and wasn't sure I could pull it off successfully

AU due to a character surviving who died in canon. Am also pretending that some of the more recent events in IDW have never happened.

Also, I do apologize if Wing is somewhat out of character. It has been several years since I read the _Drift_ IDW comic series and many of the fanfiction stories that are out there seem to make him a pretty angsty (or slutty, depending on whose opinion you get when you ask) character. I found it difficult to strike a balance, and hope I managed well enough, as minor characters can be hard to grasp sometimes. Which is the main reason I wrote strictly from Ratchet's POV.

Takes place post-war.

* * *

 _"In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone."_ ― Carson McCullers, _The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter_

* * *

 _What a Primus-forsaken night_ , Ratchet thought as he gazed out the window of his clinic at the acid rain storm outside. It was coming down in fierce torrents, one of the strongest the Autobot CMO had seen over the course of his life, and he'd seen a few.

He shook his head. _So much for heading out to Maccadam's for some engex._ He'd originally thought that would be a good way to wind up the cycle, given how slow his days had been of late, since the war had ended about three vorns before.

Ratchet supposed he shouldn't be too surprised that he wasn't getting many patients. Most of the hot spots that produced Cybertronian Sparks were just starting to recover, meaning there was no new influx to the population and wouldn't be for quite some time to come. And the population that _had_ returned to Cybertron was approximately a quarter of that which had left. It was impossible to tell whether or not they were the only survivors, as the ships which had fled during the Exodus had all become separated once they'd cleared Cybertron, but it didn't look good for their future as a race if things didn't turn around soon.

On the upside, at least things were starting to be rebuilt and with the Council of Worlds was trying to broker treaties that had the potential to bring in much needed supplies to help that happen faster then it had been. At least that's what Drift had told him, and he'd probably know, having decided to join Ironhide's guard corps. Most of their work tended to revolve around protecting that group.

For his own part, Ratchet preferred to stay out of politics. He'd seen too many shady things before the war to ever feel comfortable to take part in such business. And the politics involved in the war effort had cemented that desire to stay out once it had ended.

Shaking his head again, Ratchet pulled himself away from the window and darkened the plexiglass screen. He needed to close up the clinic if no one was coming, and since he couldn't head out for the night cycle, he may as well update some files he'd been intending to get to for the past few orns.

No sooner had he completed that thought then the buzzer to the clinic entrance sounded.

 _Well, guess I will have a patient to tend to tonight_ , Ratchet thought as he headed back towards the door. _Or perhaps it's just someone who got caught out in the storm. Though who could be out in weather like this beats the Pit out of me._

Either way, he'd have some company for the night, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. While he'd never been the most social mech in the universe, he didn't mind having the chance to sit down and talk with someone once in a while. Someone besides old war comrades, that is. Only so often one could talk about old war stories without it all becoming maudlin. Someone new wasn't a bad prospect. As long as it wasn't a former Decepticon, that was.

In any case, whoever was at the door hadn't left off at the buzzer. It was still ringing loudly and sharply as Ratchet approached the door. "Hold your fragging horses! I'm coming!" he yelled.

He coded it open. "Primus damn it! Have some patience, why don't you!"

As the door opened completely, it revealed a bulky appearing figure standing just outside. As the figure began moving into the light cast by the clinic into the outside, the former Autobot CMO got a clearer look at the individual.

The figure (a mech, he supposed, judging by the size) wore a very heavy beige colored cloak and cape, with cloths of similar make and coloration covering their limbs, both protecting him from the acid rain as well as concealing his identity. Ratchet also noticed smoke rising from portions of the cloth, a clear sign that the acid rain was beginning to take a toll on the fabric. As the person stepped closer, he could make out what seemed to be yellow optics glowing from deep within the hood. There seemed to be a strange sort of intensity in those optics that took Ratchet slightly aback. He'd seen a very similar intensity before in another set of optics, but this was very definitely not Drift.

Pushing down the unsettling feeling, Ratchet grunted at the unknown mech. "What brings you here? I'm about to close up for the night." He might want company, but frag if he was just going to show that to this mech, whoever he was.

The hood constricted slightly, indicating a nod. "I do apologize for disturbing your peace, but I just arrived in Iacon less than a joor ago, and got caught out in the storm. I noticed the light in your window right before the shutter closed and came here, hoping to find shelter until the storm passes, if that is well with you."

Ratchet raised a browridge. _Talks like a priest-educated mech._ Meaning he was probably from the high-caste, as only mechs from that strata of society could afford such an education. The medic didn't normally give a slag about rank and privilege. He might have been forged, and may have been the Senate's Chief Medical Officer at one time, thanks to that circumstance of creation, but his Spark had always been driven to give medical care to anyone, whoever they may be.

He had no high opinions of such mechs, either. Most in the high-caste had always looked down on the lower strata of society, particularly the cold-constructed, deeming them inferior. But then again, there were mechs like this one, who seemed to at least have enough manners to ask to come in instead of demanding it, as so many of his class did.

That decided Ratchet. He did a quick scan for energy weapons. Finding none, he replied, "Far be it from me to turn a mech in need away. Come in."

As the figure stepped into the clinic, Ratchet stepping back to allow the other mech an easier entrance, he noticed a large sword strapped to his visitor's back, a sword with a green jewel at the top of the hilt. Again, Ratchet couldn't help but draw another comparison to Drift, who also carried a pair of such weapons, only in his case, he wore them at his sides.

For his part, Ratchet believed the weapons to be archaic and useless in this day and age, but he couldn't argue he'd seen Drift use them effectively in spite of that. He'd also made attempts to teach Rodimus how to use them too, though he'd never explained who his own instructor had been. He'd always turned the subject away quickly whenever he was asked. The medic suspected there to be quite the story behind it, but had figured it was Drift's own business.

Right now, though, there were greater concerns to worry himself over than Drift and his mysterious instructor.

"Follow me, if you would. I have some engex upstairs in the cooler, and your...get-up," he said, motioning to the still smoking garb, "Can have the chance to be decontaminated."

Another nod. "Your hospitality is welcomed, medic. It is quite the relief to find myself welcomed here on Cybertron." There was no mistaking the genuine gratitude in the mech's voice.

Ratchet couldn't help but smile in spite of himself. It had been a long time since anyone besides Drift had displayed any sort of warm feelings towards him. "Think nothing of it. What any bot with even a smidgen of decency would do."

"Indeed," the mech replied. "It seems to have become a rare commodity over these long vorns of war."

Which was something Ratchet couldn't argue with, he found. "Yeah, but maybe with the war over, mechs will start behaving in a more civilized manner again," he replied.

For a few astroseconds, the mech didn't immediately reply, but then said wearily, "We shall see."

Something about the mech's tone struck Ratchet as off, but he decided to let it go for the moment as they approached the decontamination tube he used for cleaning his equipment. "Here, get those coverings off you, and into that contraption. They'll clean the acid rain off over the next few joors," he said.

The mech seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then nodded. Removing the sword first, he handed it to Ratchet. "Would you mind tending to this while I do so?"

Ratchet took the weapon carefully from the other mech and watched as he slowly removed the cape and other cloths he wore. His optics widened as more of the mech became visible. _Primus, he looks a lot like Drift._

Not completely of course, as the mech in front of him was clearly a flier, though his wings weren't quite as wide as that of a Seeker's, and there were some more red highlights on his head than were on Drift's, but the general make was the same, indicating they'd likely come from the same mold.

There was also an air of weariness about the mech's features. He was smiling, but there was something missing from that smile. It didn't seem to be reaching his optics. Ratchet frowned, but said nothing while the mech placed all the clothing in the tube and closed it.

Ratchet handed the sword back to the flier and then hit the button that would start the cleansing. As the machine began vibrating, he said, "Stairs are right this way."

Another nod as the mech replaced the sword onto his frame, this time attaching it to his side. Then he followed Ratchet towards the stairs which led to the living quarters.

As they entered the room, Ratchet motioned over to one of a set of cushioned chairs next to a table. "Sit yourself right there, while I fetch some engex."

Without waiting to see if the other mech complied, Ratchet headed over to the cooler and grabbed a couple bottles of copper-flavored engex. _Might as well offer the good stuff_ , he thought, _as I may not get the opportunity again any time soon._

He reached into the cupboard just above it and pulled out a pair of cups, then walked back over to his guest, and set down both the engex and cups on the table. "Help yourself," he offered.

"Thank you," the still unknown mech replied. He poured a small amount of engex into one of the cups and sipped at it. Immediately, his optics brightened. "I don't recall the last time I had flavored engex," he said, dropping the formal tone for the first time since his arrival. "Again, I thank you, medic."

Ratchet chuckled. "Think nothing of it," he replied. "And the designation is Ratchet."

For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw a startled flicker pass through the mech's optics, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it.

Before he could go any further along that train of thought, the flier had composed himself enough to reply, "It is good to meet you Ratchet. My designation is Wing."

"Wing," Ratchet repeated. "That sounds like a...fitting name for a flier."

A rueful smile crossed Wing's features. "You can be honest, Ratchet. I know it is not a very imaginative designation, to be sure."

"Certainly isn't," the medic agreed. "But I've heard worse designations." Shifting the subject slightly, he asked, "So what brings you to Cybertron, Wing?"

The rueful smile was replaced by a pensive expression, as Wing glanced down at the sword which was now propped up against his chair. "I had heard the war was over," he began slowly, "and I wished to see what changes had come to Cybertron since the peace began."

 _A pat story_ , Ratchet mused. Aloud he said, "There has to be more to it than that. I can tell by how you speak that you're of a higher social rank, and most of those fled Cybertron during the Exodus. The majority haven't returned here."

His words brought the flier up short, judging by the way he briefly stiffened at the medic's words. The pensive expression remained on his face, and his gaze turned to the half-shuttered window and the storm outside, allowing a silence to settle between them.

For a few kliks, Ratchet allowed the silence to continue, just sipping at his engex. He knew from experience that some subjects were too difficult to speak of, and apparently he'd hit on one such, if Wing's reaction had been any indication. Ratchet would admit he wasn't always the most patient of mechs, but even he understood was best to allow the other mech to take this at his own pace.

Finally, the flier looked back at Ratchet, his optics now slightly dimmer than they'd been before Ratchet had made his observation. Picking up his cup again, he replied, "You would be correct. I do have another purpose for being here." He took a sip of his engex.

Ratchet nodded. "I'm listening."

"I hail from one of the colonies created following the Exodus. Some time ago, I was exiled from said colony, due to inadvertently placing it in danger."

This information made Ratchet frown, not quite sure how to respond to that. Before he could come up with anything, though, Wing continued, "I was a member of the Circle of Light." Ratchet's optics widened at that revelation, but Wing was now looking down at his cup and hadn't noticed. "When we left Cybertron, it was with the express purpose of trying to preserve Cybertron's culture. We found a planet and created an underground colony, in order to better conceal ourselves. Not all of us agreed with the decision, myself included, but the majority believed it was the best option for concealment we had."

The Autobot CMO could see the logic behind that decision. Still..."What if someone stumbled across you by accident? Plus, there would also be the issue of supplies. Would be hard to stay hidden once you ran out of the necessities."

Wing shook his head. "One would think so, but we had some clever techs among our people. We managed to survive. But I thought we should be doing more than that. I felt we needed to be following the tenets of our order which stated that the protection of all life was the main priority. Dai Atlas believed that self-protection was more important. And his word was considered final on the matter. Most supported his position."

Ratchet, who remembered Dai Atlas well enough from his orns of being a medic for the Senate, couldn't say he was too surprised to hear this. The mech had cared for Cybertron, to be sure, and was one of of the better senators that the planet had ever had. His refusal to fight had disappointed Optimus, but given everything that had happened leading to the start of the war, Ratchet hadn't been surprised that Dai had chosen a different path. He'd probably felt the war was futile and pointless, and preferred to protect the idea of what the world should be.

He hadn't been wrong, perhaps, Ratchet reflected, but there was no doubt the mech could be inflexible on those issues he felt strongly about. Wing seemed like he had once been a little more idealistic. And when views like that clashed, there was often no room for compromise.

But that was a line of thought for another time, he decided, as he tuned back in to Wing's story.

"One night, I found a mech at a base known for slavers. A Decepticon. He had been injured and I stated I would help him with repairs if he would help me with the slavers. He agreed."

Ratchet raised a browridge. "Not a smart move, kid."

The rueful smile from earlier reappeared. "I should have known better, perhaps, but I only saw an opportunity to help and knew I needed assistance to complete that job."

"And did you?"

"Yes. Though not before he tried to renege on his bargain with me and was injured further in the process."

Ratchet shook his head. "I would probably have left him once he'd betrayed me."

"Dai Atlas certainly thought I should have," Wing replied softly. "Maybe he was right, as it turned out. The Decepticon was healed, and I was ordered to keep an optic on him until he recovered. During that time, I tried to teach him our ways and methods of fighting. He seemed to be interested, truly he did. Or perhaps it was only what I wanted to see." He took another sip of his engex. "He was offered a deal by a mech called Lockdown, who was looking for the Circle of Light with the intent of handing us over to the slavers. He chose to warn us instead."

Ratchet felt somewhat confused now. If the Decepticon had decided to help after all, what would make Wing doubt him?

The question was answered with Wing's next words.

"Dai Atlas wouldn't help, so the mech and I went out to face the slavers. I was injured, dangerously so, during the fight. When I finally came out of stasis, it was a few decacycles later and the mech was gone, the slavers destroyed."

Another sip. "Dai Atlas told me he saw what had happened to me and sent out a small contingent to help. During the fight, the mech fled, leaving me to my death, Dai said."

"Why would he just leave you there, especially since he'd decided to warn you when he didn't have to? I may not like the Decepticons, but even I can see something doesn't add up in Dai's explanation," Ratchet replied.

"I have no answer to that," Wing replied quietly. "All I do know is what Dai told me. He went on to say that I had brought our colony closer to discovery than it had ever been, and since the mech called Lockdown had escaped, the danger was still too real to be ignored. He and the rest of the Circle leadership had decided that as soon as I recovered, I was to leave the colony and could never return to it."

The smile now became bitter. "And ever since then, I have been on my own."

He set the cup down once more and leaned back in his seat. "I have since been traveling, helping others and trying to find some purpose in the universe. I...have found it to be a much harder place than I ever expected it to be. When I heard not too long ago that Cybertron was now at peace and trying to rebuild ties with the universe, I decided to see what changes had taken place. And perhaps...finding out if the mech I helped so long ago is still alive; and if so, why he acted as he did."

"I see," Ratchet replied, taking another sip of his cup, then setting it down on the table as well. In a more serious tone, he continued, "You know, kid, there's every possibility that mech is dead by now. And even if he isn't, sometimes there are no good answers to be had."

An old, world-weary expression appeared in Wing's optics. "I know, but I need to try, if only to see if I can find some peace of mind. Or understanding. At this point, I will take either."

A soft intake escaped his vents. "There is truly nothing left for me but that, Ratchet."

Ratchet felt a twinge of pity for the flier. He'd felt so strongly in his ideals and had paid a high price for them. It didn't seem fair that those of good Sparks were the ones that had to suffer the most for doing what was right, but that was the universe for you, he thought grimly. And it just continued to prove to him that Primus simply couldn't exist, not if good mechs had to suffer for no real purpose that the medic could understand.

In any case, there was at least something he could do to help.

Leaning forward, he stated, "There's a database at the main government building which has a record of all those who have been known to have survived the war on both sides. It's consistently being updated regarding statuses as we learn more information."

A glint of interest appeared in the mech's optics. Ratchet smiled as he noticed it and went on: "If you'd like, I'll take you there after the storm has passed and we can look up the designation of this Decepticon of yours. See if we can determine whether or not he's still among the functioning, and you can decide your next course of action from there."

"I...would like that...Thank you," Wing said warmly, a small smile appearing on his face.

"In the meantime, it doesn't seem like this storm is going to let up before the morning cycle, from the looks of it out there," Ratchet said, glancing out the window. "So once we're done with this engex, I have a spare room I can offer you for recharge."

Wing seemed to hesitate, perhaps not wanting to intrude on his host any longer than necessary, but Ratchet forestalled any protests by lifting up his hand. "It's no problem. I don't get a lot of company, and judging from that story you told, you seem like you could use a chance to just sit and rest for a short while."

Wing chuckled now. "When put that way, how could I refuse?" Leaning forward to pick up his cup once more, he said, "I will return the favor to you one orn for what you have done for me this evening."

Ratchet chuckled himself and picked up his own cup again, along with the bottle. "You can start by telling me a little about your travels. Always of interest to me to learn more about the galaxy," he replied.

"I think I can arrange that," Wing replied pleasantly as he held out his cup.

Ratchet smiled as he poured some additional engex into Wing's cup and then his own. As the two leaned back in their seats and continued talking, Ratchet couldn't help but feel somewhat pleased by the evening's events. He might not have made it to Maccadam's tonight, but he'd at least been able to help someone in need, and that was something to be proud of.

And maybe he could introduce Wing to Drift while they were at the government building. Knowing how much the mech seemed wistful about not having anyone to spar with where he could use those swords of his, he'd probably appreciate meeting someone else who could use them. He'd been teaching Rodimus, and the kid seemed to be doing passably well, according to what he'd heard, but even Ratchet could tell that Rodimus was nowhere near Drift's level.

Yeah, he'd probably do those introductions, Ratchet thought with an inward grin.

He was looking forward to it.

* * *

 **A/N2:** Got slightly longer than I expected, but not displeased with how it turned out. Hope you all liked this first (and probably only) attempt at IDW.

There are no continuations planned at this time.


End file.
